Dixon's Daughter Season 1
by Natasha121
Summary: Abigail Dixon hasn't had the easiest life, and it sure doesn't get easier when the zombie apocalypse starts. Afraid, and uncertain about her future, she follows the only family she has left in the end of days.
1. Chapter 1

Resting in the branch of a tree on the edge of the woods in camp, I listen to my mp3, which once again is beginning to run low on battery - I, luckily, have a spare - when I hear screams through the music. I quickly sit up, almost falling out of the tree and pull out my headphones.

Hearing more shouts, I leap from the tree and race to where the screams originated, following all the other members of camp and shoving my music player into my right jeans pocket. Many people shout as they pass each other weapons and prepare for the worst case scenario. I shakily put my hand to the pistol attached to my waist and hold the gun aloft as I approach the walker, which gnaws on a dead deer.

I glance at the men, who seem wary because of the walker, but I relax, knowing we can handle the lone walker. I stuff the gun back into the waistband of my jeans. What I was more focused on was the deer - more precisely, the arrows that stuck out of its back: they're dad's arrows, which means he's close by and is on his way back and I can't help but grin because it means he is okay.

My involuntary smile fades when I remember about Uncle Merle. Dad's going to be pissed.

The walker stands, noticing our presence, and quickly the men of the group beat it to the ground and keep hitting until Dale chops its head off.

I look away, not particularly wanting to see that. Instead, I turn my attention to the spoilt deer, wondering whether or not it's still edible, debating whether or not I'd risk eating it. Nope.

"That's the first one we've had up here." Dale pants, wide-eyed. "They never come this far up the mountain." He's right.

The whole time we'd been here, we'd been relatively safe. The only dangers were running out of water or food or perhaps getting lost and falling into the quarry but that, I hope, is highly unlikely.

"Well, they're runnin' outta food in the city, that's what."

I turn my head immediately towards the sound of twigs breaking in the undergrowth. Another walker? Quite possibly. So I pull out my gun again, remembering this time to turn off the safety, as my other hand draws my knife. I tense, but as it stumbles closer, I realise I can only heard one set of footsteps and relax a little.

 _But if there are already two walkers here, how long would we be safe for?_

My worrying is luckily for nothing; I delight in seeing my dad appear before us instead. My involuntary grin returns.

"Son of a bitch." He says, noticing the dead walker and where it had begun eating the deer's neck.

That deer could have given us a good meal or two, but it had now gone to waste.

"That's my deer! Look at it, all gnawed on by this filthy, disease-bearing, motherless-" ah, he's in a bad mood. Now is definitely not the time to tell him about Merle, or the lack of him.

Dad lashes out in aggression at Dale, but quickly reverts his attention to the deer. "I been tracking this deer for miles." He sighs, pulling out the arrows from the carcass. "Gonna drag it back to camp, cook us up some venison. Whaddya think, we can cut around this chewed up part right here?" Dad looks to several of us, and I shake my head.

As hungry as I am, I am not taking any chances.

"I would not risk that." Shane says, resting his arms on his shotgun, which he balances on the back of his neck.

Dad huffs at his hard work gone down the drain, looking at the deer and the beheaded walker. "Still, got some squirrel, about a dozen or so. That'll have to do." He eyes everyone, as if to make sure that this was acceptable, and that he wouldn't get any shit for it.

I doubt anyone would give him shit for it, especially when it's plain as day that he's pretty touchy. _I_ wouldn't mess with him.

The walker wriggles its jaw, trying to reach for food. Amy and Andrea rush away, squealing and half-gagging and eager to get away.

"Come on people, what the hell." Dad isn't phased at all by the bodiless biter, and shoots it in the head with his crossbow. The arrow hits square in the eye, and just a second later it is pulled out again. "It's gotta be the brain. Don't you know nothin'?" Dad stalks off with his squirrels with me following anxiously. _Merle. We have to tell him about Merle._

"You behave?" He asks me, turning to face me as we came into camp. I nod.

"Course. Always do." I pick up speed, not dwelling on what I did whilst he had gone. How could I tell him about Uncle Merle?

Dad hums in disagreement. "I dunno, you ain't always been a miss goody-two-shoes." He pauses, looking around camp, obviously wondering where his brother is.

I swallow, hard.

 _Oh shit, oh shit._

"Merle!" He calls, striding up to the RV. I stop in my tracks, hoping he'll stop too but he doesn't. "Merle!" He shouts even louder. "Get your ugly ass out here. I got us some squirrels! Stew 'em up!" Dad lays down his crossbow, and turns back towards the RV again.

I feel my heart begin to race - Dad's going to be angry. No, not angry, _furious_. Enraged. Fuming.

And Rick'll probably get the brunt of it, since it was his fault, technically. Him and T-Dog.

And I feel like I should be been angry too, at Rick and T-Dog, but I wasn't. I'm not. Not as angry as I know Dad's going to be. I wasn't even that angry when they told me - upset and a little surprised, but I wasn't angry - I know what Merle's like and I didn't blame them one bit. It was their fault, but I couldn't blame them.

"Daryl." Someone says, calmly. Whoever it was shouldn't sound that calm - they obviously hadn't seen my dad angry before.

Dad turns to face the voice mid-step.

"Slow up a bit, I need to talk to you." That was Shane, I'm sure.

I don't want to see this, I don't want to be here when he loses his shit. I quickly make my way towards the RV, but I stop when I get to the door and turn to look at him before I hide for a bit.

"About wha'?" Dad asks, and I hear it in his voice; I hear that uncertainty, like he knows something's up. He knows something isn't right and it's worrying him. He's used that voice with me before, and I can still recognise it even now, after shit went down.

"About Merle." Shane says. "There's a, uhh ... problem in Atlanta." He says, vaguely.

Other men in the camp begin to circle my dad, like he's a wild animal about to go berserk. And maybe he will.

I don't know exactly how he'll react, whether he'll scream and shout for a bit before collecting himself, or if he'll lash out and need restraining, but from the sight circling men, I begin to think it'll be the latter, simply because a cornered animal almost always lashes out, and that's exactly what they're doing. Trapping him. It's the fight or flight instinct kicking in and since there is nowhere to fly…

I know he's noticed it too, because he's looking around, blinking very quickly. He harshly tells me to get inside the RV, and I can tell he isn't asking.

So I clamber into the RV and sit myself down on the seat at the back next to the window so I can see what is happening, but I also plug in one earphone. Music always helps me feel better.

Rick moves up to Dad, almost as though they're having a face off, like two alpha males fighting for dominance.

I shake my head, squinting. I'd watched too many animal documentaries before the apocalypse.

I look away but seconds later, I hear shouting, and suddenly Shane knocks Dad onto the floor.

I'm standing, I hadn't realised, but my earphone has fallen out and the music has gone and the men are fighting in the middle of camp.

Dad pulls out his knife, and I watch as he angrily slashes at Rick, who dodges the blade with ease. It happens very quickly, and just out of my sight, but when I get to the door I see them holding Dad in a choke-hold and dragging him away from Rick. I grip tightly to the wall of the RV, making sure that I don't get any closer, but I can't hold back my tongue.

"STOP IT!" I screech, hearing Dad panting as Rick is right in his face. I bite at the corner of my mouth, forcing myself to not say anymore as I gain a glance from Rick, but only for half a second.

Dad's quickly let go and shoved to floor, and I let my hands loosen on the wall. A look from Lori tells me to get back inside the RV, and I obey since I don't want Dad to be angry about another thing - he has enough on his plate.

Lori shortly follows me in, and for another hour or so, I stay in the RV and listen to music, thinking about Uncle Merle.


	2. Chapter 2

Instead of approaching Dad about Merle and what had happened between him and Rick, I stay quiet as I watch him get ready to go to Atlanta to get Uncle Merle back. As much as I don't want him to go, I know that if the same had happened to somebody I care about just as much as he does Merle, I would go, no questions asked.

I wouldn't say I'm not close with Merle, but ... no, wait, that's exactly what I'm saying. I'd only really seen him around a few times before the world fell apart and when things started to get bad, a few months back, I actually spent time with him. Mum wasn't particularly fond of him, and she made sure my Dad knew that when I'd visit them.

Dad won't let me go with him to Atlanta. "Too dangerous." He'd said, and there's no point in arguing. It's not like I really want to go back towards the city anyway, it's just if something happens to him, I don't know what I'd do. I'd be alone, again.

But I don't dwell too much on that thought. I can't. He'll come back, with Merle in tow, and then we'll stay a little longer, but most likely we'll move on. Merle really wouldn't want to stay with people who had handcuffed him to a roof, and I wouldn't blame him for that, but I don't feel ready to leave. I like it here; I like the people, even if I wasn't sure if they liked me.

"Pass me that." Dad says, pointing at the bag by my feet.

I grab it and chuck it towards him whilst still staying outside the van. I don't want to look at him - I almost can't believe he's going without me and as much as I don't want to admit it, I'm scared for him.

Dad catches the bag and dumps it on the floor, frowning at me. "Quit pouting, I'll be back before you know it." He kicks the bag off his foot and huffs, sticking his leg into the front and honking the horn.

I flinch.

"Come on, let's go!" He yells at Rick and T-Dog, jumping out the back of the van and turning to me, lowering his head a little to look me in the eye, though I'm not too much shorter than him. "Be good." He makes me promise, "and save me one them squirrels." He smiles, trying to lighten the mood, but it doesn't work - I don't feel any better at all.

"No promises." I smile, trying to seem okay with the fact that he's leaving, again. I want to be brave, to not seem pathetic, so I play along. "See you when you get back." I say, and although I say it to him, it feels more like a promise to myself.

"With Merle." Dad promises, but that doesn't reassure me.

"With or without him." I mutter, but I wasn't loud enough to be heard because he stands and turns into the van. I take a few steps back as Rick and Shane come over to the back of the van.

"Abs, I'm coming back." Dad assures me and this time I felt better, if only slightly.

"And ... " I pause, not wanting to bring it up, but I have to. "Keep an eye out ... for mum." I ask, and he nods but doesn't say anything. I give a small, closed smile to look brave, and maybe even feel it. God I wish I were brave.

I'm still smiling as the van departs, but as soon as it's out of sight, my face drops and I sigh as I trudge back to the middle of camp, feeling helpless and lost. I look around camp, trying to decide what to do with myself. I could do another workbook, help with laundry, maybe start stewing the squirrels Dad had killed. Before I can make a decision though, Lori comes over to me.

"How're you feeling?" She asks from a few feet away. _What sort of answer does she expect?_ Truthfully I'm annoyed and upset about the whole situation. My whole family is out in Atlanta and there's a possibility that they wouldn't come back and it's partially her husband's fault. No, I don't mean that. I know what Merle is like and I don't really blame Rick one bit for acting the way he did. I'm just upset.

I shrug. That was the simplest answer. "How'd you _think_ I'm feeling?" I think aloud. The sun is strong enough to make me need to squint to see her. I kick some dust in the air, a sick feeling building up in my stomach. I stay quiet as she stands beside me, close enough to touch. "What if they don't come back?" I want to ask, but that's her husband out there, I can't ask that. It'll only upset her too. But I need to know. I really need to know. So I pluck up my courage and ask her.

Lori stays quiet for a moment, thinking. "We can't afford to think like that." She then tells me, and I feel stupid for asking. I feel bad for asking. We aren't close enough to discuss something like that and I should have known that it'd make her feel uncomfortable - well, I did know, I just asked anyway and it was stupid of me.

I turn away, nodding. I feel like crying. I can feel tears coming. I had seen what had become of Atlanta, and it scared me to my core- it still scares me. The fact that my family is there only makes me feel worse.

I clear my throat. _Keep a stiff upper lip_ , my mum used to say. "Course. They'll be fine." I tell her, walking towards Dad's pick-up truck. _They'll all be fine. They'll find Merle, get their stupid bag of guns and come back here to us, and everything will be fine._ Well, as fine as it can be with the dead walking.

I hop inside the vehicle and slam the door behind me, pulling out my music and playing "Somewhere only we know" by Lily Allen. I close my eyes, trying to relax and think of something else for a while.

The truck smells familiar, and helps me remember life before the world went to shit. I sing along quietly and just sit by myself, alone with my thoughts and able to cry undisturbed. They'll be okay. _They'll be okay._


	3. Chapter 3

I'm not sure just how long I spent in the car: it could have been twenty minutes, it could have been several hours, but many songs later, the unbearable heat forces me to evacuate the car. Pulling my earphones out and stuffing them in my pocket, I clamber out and shut the door behind me.

I've apparently been quite a while, because Amy and Andrea are back from the quarry with a ton of fish on them - probably enough for us all to be full this evening.

I lick my lips hungrily, imagining the taste of the dinner we'll be having tonight. It's something to look forward to, something to keep my mind off Atlanta and perhaps it'll make the sick feeling in my stomach go away. Hopefully.

"Whoa," I comment in admiration as I draw closer to the sisters. "You two have some serious skills." I compliment, causing both Amy and Andrea to smile.

"Thanks." Amy says, holding up her catch a little higher. I'd always wished I'd known how to fish, and now I was beginning to want to know even more. It seemed like such a useful skill, especially now, it seems imperative.

"Where did you two learn to do that?" Lori asks, sounding equally in awe as the rest of us.

"Our dad." Amy replies, smiling, perhaps in memory of him.

"Can you teach me?" Carl asks them, which I think is a good idea - the more people who know how to fish, the better.

"Sure! I'll teach you all about nail knots and stuff ... If that's okay." Amy checks with Lori, who seems to have no problem with it.

"I don't suppose you could teach me too?" I didn't think she'd say no, and luckily I'm right.

"Course, no problem." She grins, happily. "We can make a day out of it, it'll be great."

"Hey Dale!" Andrea turns to Dale, who slowly walks towards us. "When's the last time you oiled those liners? They were a disgrace!" She jokes, but Dale is too distracted, not acknowledging what she'd said.

"I, uh ... I don't want to alarm anyone, but ... we may have a bit of a problem." He turns towards the hills, looking distant.

A slight discomfort in my gut makes me feel wary, and a little on edge. It's then I see a man's figure, digging on the hill in the hot sun. On closer inspection, I realise it's Jim.

Everyone quickly decides to go up and see what was happening and why Jim was digging. Although Jim's digging hadn't phased me much, the feeling in my gut didn't go away.

I decide to stay and sit up on the RV and to keep a lookout, just in case. I watch using Dale's binoculars, but also look around the whole camp, down to the quarry, along the roads and back to Jim and the others. I look away again, scanning the camp and return my gaze to the hill to find Jim and Shane fighting.

It soon ends with Shane pushing Jim to the ground and holding him there, talking down to him. I look away, sit down on the RV and wipe the sweat from my forehead. I'm baking in the sun, and since we probably don't have sun-cream, I'll probably burn.

 _Hurrah!_

Even when Mum and I were travelling across southern Europe, we hadn't experienced heat like this.

Jim had been tied to a tree to stop him from staying out in the sun and overheating. He, apparently, was scaring people. He hadn't scared me, but then again, I've seen more frightening things, and there are worse things out there than Jim. I don't pay much attention, since it isn't really my business and Dad had said not to get too close to anyone here - so I didn't, and I'm trying not to. Unsuccessfully.

I can't help it, but I feel tense. Maybe it's the waiting for Dad to get back, or the fact that Uncle Merle is also gone or that I barely know anyone here and I'm feeling lonely. Or maybe I'm missing Mum. Either way, I don't quite know what to do. I'm not supposed to get close to people, so I have nobody to talk to.

I decide to get started on the fish, because someone is going to have to cook them sooner or later - before they go bad. So, with the help of Carol, I get to work.

I like Carol. She's kind and sensitive and I appreciate that very much. Whilst showing me what to do with the fish, she demonstrates with her own, then helps me with mine. The short time we're together is sweet and calm; very different to what the world's like now, and it's refreshing.

That's before Carol is carted off by her husband. I try so hard not to listen to his harsh words and focus on deboning the rest of the fish and preparing them to be cooked. So when Carol returns with reddened eyes, she smiles when she notices I've turned to face her. I smile back, not sure whether to ask her if she' okay or whether to leave it.

"You alright?" I ask, after a moment of silently gutting fish.

Carol nods, obviously not wanting to talk about it, so we continue in silence for a long time before she continues showing me what to do, but it's no longer the same.

At nightfall, we're eating, and it's surprisingly good. I sit with the others by the fire as they talk and I listen, and though I felt a little out of place at first, it's quite nice. The fire, the people - it's how I had imagined camping to be. The talk's not even important, it's light and fun, teasing Dale about his watch and laughing about how Amy had tripped over, but managed to catch herself before she fell or hurt herself.

Amy soon leaves, "to go pee" she says to Andrea when asked, and makes a remark that makes other people laugh. I am, under the circumstances, feeling better. I still want everyone to be back, but I'm a lot more relaxed. I'd even put my gun in my backpack, which I'd put outside the RV. I'd kept my knife on me. I always keep it on me, even in bed because you never know when you're going to need it, or so Dad says.

Somehow I relax. I get comfortable and slowly get tired enough that I close my eyes and begin to drift off…

When somebody screams.

I jolt upright, wide-eyed, feeling the dread drop like a heavy rock in my stomach.

Amy had screamed. She's been bitten, over by the RV she's being attacked by walkers. And just like that, it's over for her. And they're suddenly everywhere. And everyone's screaming and running.

Gunshots are being fired. By Shane at first. The gunshots aren't the only sound. My heart's thumping a mile a minute and I bolt.

My legs carry me away into the trees, faster and faster, further and further away deep into the woods. I keep going and going, unable to stop myself in the panic I'd sent myself into, the pure fear that triggered the flight instinct and I can't stop, can't override the instinct until I'm alone, panting and crying in the dark.

I can't think.

I can hardly breathe.

My head pounds almost as strongly as my heart. I hadn't thought about how unsafe it was to be alone in the dark and now that's exactly where I am. Alone. Alone and afraid in the dark. All I'd done was react to things that were happening around me, and now nothing's happening, so I slow and stand to catch my breath. In and out.

In and out. In and out. Deep, ragged breaths slowly getting more controlled and less raspy.

I hear a twig snap and the moan of a walker behind me. My body decides what to do without me. I heave myself up a tree, grabbing branch after branch, trying to get as high as possible. I slip, my leg dangling right in front of the walker. I kick it in the face, causing it to fall to the ground and use the force to push myself up higher and haul myself to a temporary safety. I try to regain my breath again; in and out. In and out.

"Fuck." I mutter, trembling. It takes time, God knows how long, but I steady my breathing and try to think straight; it's a lot harder when you've got adrenaline coursing through your body, however.

A thought hits me; I can't hide up in this tree forever. The longer I stay, the higher the possibility that more walkers will find me. But I don't want to go back to camp. I can't. People have _died_ , and I have no idea how many but I could have helped save them, even if only a little bit. I could have killed a walker, which could have saved someone's life.

But I had behaved cowardly. I can't go back.

Dad crosses my mind and I push my previous thought away. I need to get back to camp. I have no choice. Even if it's just for him. _We won't be staying with them long anyway_ , I think, but I know the guilt will stay whether we leave or not.

Growling draws my attention downwards and I look to the walker below me, ignoring the foul stench it gives off. _Before I do anything, I have to get rid of that walker_. I can't use my gun, since it's still in my backpack at camp but maybe that's for the best, since the noise would attract more walkers - it also means that I have no choice in whether I go back or not.

So, knife it is then.

I shuffle on the branch, figuring out a way to get down when I hear a gunshot and flinch. My foot slips and for a moment I'm in mid-air, trying desperately to grab a branch on my way down but all I do is scrape my hands and arms. My feet hit the ground first, and though my knees bend, shooting pains are sent up both my legs as I fall forwards onto my arms and face then flat onto my stomach. The pain distracts me momentarily but when I feel something kick my foot I twist onto my back in fear.

The walker is right there.

I kick its leg, trying to get it away from me but it falls right on top of me but before it can do any damage, I pull my knife from my jeans and stab it in the brain with all the force I can muster.

Only when it falls limp on top of me do I start to calm down. I shove it off me and lie in the leaves. My head throbs menacingly, as do my knees. My arms and hands sting from being grazed and bruised on the way down, six or seven feet. Fuck it hurts so bad.

I lay there for a long while, trying to find the strength to stand or even just the motivation to sit up. My eyelids grow heavy but it strikes me then that it's still not safe. I won't be safe until I get back to camp, though even that was now up for debate.

I pull the knife from the walker's skull and wipe it on the corpse's clothing. It's still in my hand as I use the tree to haul myself to my feet and struggle not to cry out in pain when pressure is put on either knee. Slowly but surely, I hobble back to camp, towards the shouts and the gunshots that go silent as I enter the clearing where we'd set up. I hear weeping and indistinguishable shouts still, but quickly all goes quiet again.

My knees, which had been crying out for me to stop the whole journey back, suddenly give out. I fall to the ground, allowing myself to lay in the dirt because nobody is there to stop me.

Dad isn't here, Merle isn't here, Mum isn't here - nobody. No one can tell me what to do and no one is looking out for me. The thought brings tears to my eyes and I know it's selfish of me to only think of that when others are mourning the recently dead but like I said, nobody's here to stop me.

I close my eyes, allow myself to succumb to my shameful sadness and fear because I'm truly all alone.

"ABBY! ABIGAIL!" A voice shouts.

I open my eyes to the familiar voice.

"ABIGAIL!" The voice calls again.

I groan as I try to sit myself upright and wave a tired arm. "Here! I'm over here!" My voice shakes and is quieter than I would have liked. But it's enough because someone rushes over.

Someone cares.

My body topples over the other way in exhaustion. I'm picked up, and I think I'm hallucinating because I hear my dad's voice whisper softly to me. But I smell him too, so I can't be, it has to be him.

"Hey, it's okay, you're safe now." I bury my head into my dad's chest as he tells whoever he's with to pick up the knife that had been beside me.

A sob erupts from me. I can't help it, but I don't stop shaking and panting for a good while.

Dad doesn't tell me to "man up" or stop crying and though a part of me wishes he would because that's what Mum would do, I'm glad he just holds me. I'm glad he takes me away from everyone else so they don't see me snivelling because I don't need the added embarrassment of that too - behaving cowardly was enough.

The second I'm in the safety of the pick up truck, I'm asleep.


	4. Chapter 4

I sleep awfully that night. The walkers come after me every time my eyes close. I hear Amy screaming, everyone is screaming and gunshots are firing and walkers are moaning and everything is dying dying dying- I run. I have to escape. I have to get away but the walkers get closer and closer and my legs ache more and more as I keep going.

I wake up panting. This is the third time I've woken up; the second time I've woken up screaming. The other time I had woken up crying, but it hadn't been the same dream. That dream wasn't about last night's events - it was about the day my life went to shit.

I was sat under a tree, listening to music. I had been resting there with my eyes closed trying to relax. Mum was in the hospital again, and she had told Dad to tell me she'd be there for a while this time. She said that we wouldn't be travelling much anymore, either. So I was stuck in Georgia with Dad. I was already having to go to school, and that was no fun either.

Up until the age of 11, I had been home schooled as I travelled the world with my mum. We had been all over Europe until Mum got sick, and I had to go to boarding school in the UK. That had been the most terrifying thing I'd experienced, and was the loneliest period of my life.

In the holidays, Mum would drive us around London and take me down to Brighton and Land's End and up to Cardiff and Llandudno, and up to Blackpool and then Glasgow. All different holidays, of course. Mum said she had wanted me to get to know her home since she wasn't allowed to travel on planes anymore.

Even up until we came to the USA, on a trip she wasn't supposed to go on, she never spoke to me about her illness. She never let me ask or let me help her. She told me to pretend that she wasn't ill, and that she was fine, so I did. I wish she had spoken to me about it, just once. I just wanted to understand.

She took me on that last trip to America when I turned 14 but she never told me why and so I never questioned her. So when we turned up outside Dad's house, I wasn't too surprised, however, Mum told me to stay where I was as she knocked on the door and spoke to Dad. He seemed surprised and after a moment shocked and a little sad. After some head shaking and seemingly reluctant nodding and talking, Mum waved me over.

As I approached, I noticed Mum looking pale as ever, and she'd pulled a tissue to her nose, hiding half her face. I hadn't noticed how thin she was getting, but when I compared my parents together, she looked incredibly fragile, as though she could blow away at any second.

"Abs, I have to go to the hospital for a little while again, so we've decided it'd be best for you to stay here for a while. Just until we can travel again, yeah? Think of it as a long holiday with your father." She explained.

I'd never stayed with him for more than a week at a time, and even that was a rare occurrence these days, since Mum's desire to travel had only ever increased since I was young and when she got sick, she'd decided to stay within Europe.

Things took off from there. After a few days of staying at a nearby hotel whilst Dad prepared the dump he called a house and I gathered all my belongings, Mum got worse. Her eye sockets were getting dark and deeper, and she looked weaker by the second. She was trembling and had a hacking cough and eventually she couldn't conceal the fact that she was coughing up blood. I took responsibility then. I called 911. She was sent to hospital.

She asked the nurses to call my Dad and as soon as he arrived, she shut me out wouldn't let me see her. I was taken back to Dad's and I began school and had to put up with Uncle Merle on a regular basis. That was then the most frightening time of my life so far. I stayed there for just over a year, trying to stay out of the way of both the adults and whoever they had round. Their friends or work colleagues scared me, so I always tried to avoid them.

School was just as bad. At first, people were interested in me because of my "British accent" but it soon turned into teasing and bullying. I had never felt to low in my life.

But then I got a call from Mum. It was the last call from Mum. She said was feeling better and after she spoke to Dad, he said she'd let me visit. Dad took me and I stayed at the hospital overnight. She had said she didn't want me to remember her as the dying woman I'd seen her as. As I was leaving, she told me I'd probably see her sooner next time, but I heard her say to my Dad that she didn't want me to visit again.

On the last day, I sat underneath the tree listening to music, and I was having an okay day. I wasn't happy, but I wasn't wanting to melt into a puddle of tears. I saw Merle's motorbike drive up to the house and he raced inside, grabbed Dad, who grabbed me and pulled me into his truck. He said we were going to Atlanta because it was safe there. I didn't know what from at that point. I was confused, but I didn't ask. We drove past the hospital, and I wondered why we weren't going to pick up Mum. This time I asked.

Dad flipped out. He kept telling me that he couldn't and that I should shut up and not ask questions because he was driving and that it was too dangerous for him to go and get her. He wasn't shouting or being horrible about it, but in some respects, it kind of made it worse. I cried silently as the hospital disappeared from sight and I came to terms with the fact that I really would never see my mum again.

From then on, I'd had nightmares about mum being alone in the hospital and they made me feel so guilty for leaving her there, for not somehow making Dad turn back. I relived that so much, but I hadn't had that dream in weeks. Up until now.

I wake up crying again but it's light now, so I don't have to fall asleep again. I quickly wipe away the tears and stiffly sit up, slowly regaining feeling in my body. The first thing I notice is the pounding in my knees as I straighten them a little and they do so with the added consequence of pain. I pull up my trouser legs to see the damage I'd caused the night before and huff when I see the extent to which I'd hurt them. Both knees had dark bruises covering the joint and I touched them lightly, only to feel the heat rising off them and pain shoot up my leg.

I breathe out steadily, considering my options. I can't stay in here forever because it'll get hot soon, but attempting to get dressed sounds like more pain than I would care to endure this early in the morning.

Recalling feelings of embarrassment from last night forces me to choose the latter, since I have to make up for yesterday by being helpful. I pick up my bag from the passenger's foot space and search it for anything that would be less painful than jeans. Baggy tracksuit bottoms trump shorts by the fact that they can hide my knees - I don't need people worrying about me when I need to be helpful, it'd be counter-productive. I slide them on gently, and change my top effortlessly, making a mental note to wash off the blood stains.

Slowly clambering out the car, and trying not to make a noise as I put pressure on my knees, I eventually let out a small groan once they hold my full weight. Walking hurts more, and once I reach the centre of camp I am surprised my knees hadn't given out on me, but I don't risk it and make for the closest seat - a stump.

Though nobody is looking at me (to my knowledge anyway) I try as hard as I can to walk normally without grimacing or limping. I take another step but my leg gives up and I sink to the ground, slamming my right knee into the dusty earth and desperately falling onto my behind. I gasp in shock, blinking away tears frustratedly. I push myself to my feet, heat rising to my cheeks as I trudge to the stump and sit myself down, praying nobody saw.

Dad swings a pickaxe into a walker's brain, focused only on that task - he can't possibly have noticed, or else he'd have been here in seconds wanting to know what was up. He needn't concern himself. He obviously doesn't even know I'm here, or I'm certain he'd be asking me about last night and I want to postpone that as long as necessary.

I rest up and prepare to help with something, though I'm hoping it won't consist of too much physical labour, since I'm not sure I can handle it.

Andrea kneels over her dead sister, clutching her, staring into her eyes and looking for any sign of life. I watch and feel bad, and feel worse as I catch myself staring. In fact, it's only when Rick approaches her that I snap out of it, because she pulls her gun on him and threatens him.

My eyes widen in fear. Rick begins to back away and my fear loosens, but I still have a sick feeling in my stomach. Perhaps it's the smell of rotting flesh, or the anxiety that the events of last night could happen again and I no longer feel safe. I put my head in my hands and go to rest my elbows on my knees. Bad move on my part. A small cry escapes my lips, impossible to hold back and I regret it as soon I hear it.

Rick looks over, frowning. I smile, but he persists, walking over to me. "Are you okay?" He asks, and though he does it out of possible care and worry, I feel a little disgruntled that he didn't just ignore it.

"Fine." I state, raising my eyebrows, smiling and widening my eyes innocently. Because I am fine. It's just a bruise and the pain will subside eventually.

"I saw you fall earlier." _Stiff upper lip_. I just have to rest up a bit, and I will be fine. I will.

"I'm fine. Really." I say and Rick nods, but I can see it in his eyes that he doesn't believe me. It's not highly suspicious that he walks over to my dad to talk and then they both look over at me. Not at _all_ suspicious.

I turn away from the pair talking just out of earshot and close my eyes, awaiting the crunch of footsteps on soil that would ruin my day more so. Seconds tick by and I consider walking away, as if to somehow prove that I'm fine but I don't trust my legs not to falter. So I sit in apprehension, waiting for Dad to make his way over and get me to show him my knees.

Soft footsteps walk up behind me and I lean away slightly to avoid eye contact with Dad out of yet more embarrassment. To my surprise, Rick walks past glancing at me with a raised eyebrow before turning back to the group he'd previously been talking with. I jump when Dad puts a hand on my shoulder - I hadn't heard him coming, I'd been so focused on scowling at Rick.

"Rick says you been acting funny." He tells me, hand still on my shoulder as he crouches down to my height. "You in pain?" I shake my head. He studies me and I know he knows I'm lying, so he stands, holding out his hand to help me up. "Fine, then help me with the clean up." I know Dad wouldn't have said that if he knew I couldn't do it, but as I proud person, I have to take him up on his offer.

I grab his hand and pull myself up and for a split second Dad seems surprised - that second ending when my legs give out yet again and I drop halfway to the ground, grimacing and growling in pain and frustration. Dad grabs me before I reach the ground and pulls me back onto the stump.

"You gonna tell me what's up or are we gonna have to do this all again?" He says, bending over with his hands on his knees. Even with tears in my eyes from the agony, I stare at him defiantly as I pull up my trouser legs.

"Happy now." I raise an eyebrow as his eyes drop to the purple bruises on my knees. He crouches, holding his hand over the joints and looking up at me for permission to touch. I nod. His rough hands are light on my tender skin and he looks worried as he tries to bend and straighten my legs one at a time until I groan in protest. Once he puts my leg down he sighs.

"I'm fine." I say, just for the record. He smiles, exhaling through his nose and shaking his head slightly.

"Stay here-"

"No, please, I gotta-"

"Stay here and don't move. Those knees ain't gonna get better by themselves." He says, giving his "don't argue with me" face. "Maybe if the swelling goes down, you can come in the truck when we go to bury the dead." I nod, sighing in defeat. Dad stands, his eyes still on me, still thinking something over. "Sit tight." He slides his hand through my hair and walks to Rick, who was over by the small camp fire.

I stretch my legs, glancing over at Andrea when I hear her name. Dad suddenly walks off back towards the dead bodies, looking a little ticked off. Before I can even speak, he points a finger at me.

"Don't move." He says, not stopping for argument, barely slowing when I spin on the stump and bash my knees together, squeaking involuntarily. A brief look is all I get and I'm left on the stump, useless.


	5. Chapter 5

Still being embarrassed about the previous night, I try to avoid eye contact with everyone. I was beginning to think that if anyone so much as caught my eye weirdly, I'd pass out - but I put that down to being overheated on the stump. Luckily for me, people are focused on Andrea, and had been all morning.

Though the focus isn't really on Andrea - it's on Amy's corpse that could turn any minute. I'm not so worried, since Amy is only one walker but Andrea is so close to her so I do understand the groups nervousness. It's not helping that Rick and other members of the group keep talking about what to do behind her back when she can clearly hear them - all of us can.

I really feel for Andrea, because although I don't have any siblings, I know what it's like to lose someone you love, though in my case there is always the chance I could find my missing relatives. I don't know if they're dead or alive but I try to be optimistic. Andrea doesn't have that comfort. Amy is stone cold and dead right in front of her and that brutal reality I don't think has hit her yet. That or she can't accept it. I don't know, I just feel sympathetic towards her.

Dad begins to talk about shooting Amy from where the group were by the campfire. Inconsiderate, but a good way to nip it in the bud - something I'd usually go for if it weren't for the circumstances we're under, especially since Andrea had already pulled a gun on Rick just for getting near and if anyone does anything more than that, I'm certain she'd go ballistic, possibly even kill someone. I wouldn't put her past that, not whilst she's in that state of mind.

Lori calms my nerves by telling them to leave her alone for now. That's what I want to do; couldn't risk anyone getting hurt through stupidity and insincerity. Shane, Rick and Dad disagree. They're agitated, wanting to prevent the problem and I can see why, but Andrea has it under control no matter how grief-stricken she is. Or at least I hope she does.

Dad is angry again, frustrated that there is an option to keep us all safe and nobody is willing to do it. Probably. Morales helps Dad drag off some more bodies to be burned. Whilst he's distracted, I stretch my legs and try to stand again. The sooner I can get up and move around, the sooner I can go back to normal and help people out.

I stand slowly, inching myself upwards as gently as I can manage. I take one step at a time, aiming for the RV to use the bathroom, but it also meant going past Andrea. I stop at the door, pausing before the stairs and to give her my sympathies.

"We're here for you, Andrea. Whenever you need us, no matter what for - you know the rest of the group have your back right?" I don't expect a reply or any form of acknowledgement, but a brief look from her lets me know that it was taken well. I turn back to the stairs and climb inside.

I come back out to shouting. My first thought springs to Walkers and my hand goes to my waist where my knife should be, but it isn't there. I rush out of the RV, almost tripping when I hear the words being shouted.

"Show it to us."

"I'm okay."

"Easy Jim."

Something's wrong with Jim and they're circling him, the same way Dad was circled, except he was joining in this time, wielding his pickaxe in fear. He grabs Jim, lifting his shirt, showing everyone the bite mark on his abdomen. Jim keeps muttering to himself, trying to assure everyone else that he's fine. But he's not. He'll be dead before the day is out. I dread to think what I'd do in his situation, other than sink to the ground and cry. Perhaps I'd just leave quietly, far enough away to put a bullet in my brain and leave a note explaining that I'd been bitten.

I move to a different seat now that the stump was in the sun and luckily I'm close enough to join in the conversation about what to do about Jim. Dad speaks about Jim as though he's only a problem that needed to be fixed, giving his solution with no compassion at all. I suppose he saves that for family only.

"I say we put a pickaxe in his head and the dead girl's and be done with it." He suggests bitterly, and I know that he knows the others won't react well to it.

"Is that what you'd want if it were you?" Shane pricks his head up, speaking in an accusative manner.

"Yeah, and I'd thank you while you did it." Dad replies, matter-of-factly. I try not to dwell on those words.

"What about if it were your girl?" Shane digs, and Dad's eyes turn to daggers.

"Er, I'm right here, and quite frankly I'm not deaf either." I hiss at Shane, not enjoying being talked about in the third person. Dale interrupts before the conversation completely diverted.

"I hate to say it, I never thought I would, but I think maybe Daryl's right." The look of surprise on people's faces would be almost indescribable. Nobody expected that of Dale.

"Jim's not a monster, Dale, or some rabid dog-" Rick begins, that's not what Dale means.

"I'm not suggesting-" Dale tries to get a word in, but Rick continues over the top of him.

"-he's a sick, sick man. We start down that road and where do we draw the line?" Rick sounds collected, but there's something in his tone of voice which screams "I don't like where this is going."

"The line's pretty clear: zero tolerance for walkers, or them to be." Dad is on a roll for getting people to not like him.

"I just don't think it's that simple." I try to say, but I'm drowned out partially by Rick. Dad hears me, and gives me a look, though I don't know what it means.

"What if we can get him help? I heard the CDC was working on a cure." A cure. A miracle cure. But even a cure couldn't stop the walkers that were already up and running, even if it could prevent more from turning. The world as we knew it was gone, and there'd be no undoing of that devastation, even with a cure.

I let my mind wander, going quiet whilst Rick and Shane debate where we should go. I zone back in when I hear Shane say "safe". The conversation has yet again drifted from the immediate problem to the future.

"The military were on the front lines of this thing. They got overrun. We've all seen that. The CDC is out best choice and Jim's only chance." Rick argues.

"Okay, that's all well and good, but from what I know, the CDC is miles away and I hate to say it but I doubt he'll make it. We need to do something now, even if it's just making sure someone keeps an eye on him and looks after him in his last few hours. Give him some aspirin or something, ease the pain." I suggest but I don't expect anyone to pay any attention to a fifteen year old.

"You go looking for aspirin, do what you need to do. Someone needs to have the balls to take care of this damn problem." I don't think I'd ever seen Dad behaving as aggressively as he was now, but I guess fear and pent up emotions do that to you. He raises his pickaxe and races towards Jim. My heart stops as Rick pulls a gun on him and I'm racing forward myself. Something holds me back, someone's hands around my waist and I try to shrug them off but they're stronger than me.

"We don't kill the living." Rick growls, and Dad turns to face him, unperturbed by the gun pointed between his eyes.

I can hardly breathe. I can't even tell if I am or not because I'm trying too desperately to get these arms off me without hurting the person holding me. Shane moves to stand between Dad and Jim, to prevent anything that could go down. Rick won't shoot. He can't. He said it himself, _we don't kill the living_.

"That's funny, coming from a man who just put a gun to my head." Dad is so calm and I don't see how. A gun in my face would have me back all the way down in fear. There is a short stare off, but it feels long to me. Too long. I'm not breathing, I can tell now.

"We may disagree on some things, not on this. Put it down, Daryl." Shane's calm too. How are all these people so damn calm when we're talking about life and death?

Dad throws the pickaxe to the floor and Rick lowers the gun from his head. My breath returns in a sharp inhale and my burning lungs are grateful. My throbbing legs, however, are less so and they shake as I lean back into the person who is holding me so tightly to them.

"Breathe, there's a girl." I hear in my ear, and apparently Lori's been whispering in my ear the whole time, trying to calm me down. I let her support me and turn into her to hold her close as Dad storms off. I tremble slightly, not wanting to let her go.

"Rick wouldn't have done it, would he?" I ask her quietly, pulling away and hobbling back to my seat in the shade.

"No, course not." But I get the feeling she's only saying that to reassure me. I heard the click of the gun cocking. I saw Rick's finger on the trigger.

From my spot I watch Dad swing his axe into more of the corpses' brains, letting out his anger with each hit.

After a couple of minutes, Carol walks up to him and takes the pickaxe. Dad doesn't seem to object, and she hammers it down into the walker's skull, once, twice, thrice ... I make a bet with myself that that walker is her dead husband, Ed. Dad looks surprised, but leaves her to it. She no longer seems feeble now she's free from him, and I can understand why Dad told me to keep away from them - Ed Peletier was an abusive husband and I'm glad he's dead.


	6. Chapter 6

I'm lying down when I hear the gunshot. I snap upright, looking over to the RV where the sound had originated. Amy's now in a different position, I think and there is blood on the ground next to her. Nobody speaks and Andrea stays by her sister but the danger is gone for now. I lie back down.

Dad returns after he's had time to vent. He brings me water and my backpack, handing me the bottle which I accept eagerly. The backpack he puts on the ground by my feet and he sits next to me as I down the water. He shuffles his hands together, leaning forward, his elbows on his knees.

"I scared you earlier." He says, turning to face me. I put the bottle down, trying to think of how to reply to that.

" _Rick_ scared me. He ... he wouldn't have actually done it, right?" I don't get a reply and he just looks forward again. "Killing Jim wouldn't have solved anything. It would have just created more problems." Dad raises his eyebrow at me, looking sideways at me. "You know as well as I do that they would have us chucked out on our own if you did that." We both stay silent for a moment after that remark, both realising that we don't want to leave and be on our own.

"Rick wants me to take the dead to be buried or something, so I'll be taking the truck up and down the hill." He tells me and I nod. He turns halfway towards me trying to say something and I wait patiently for it to come out.

"Didn't find Merle." That was partially good news; it meant he escaped and hadn't been stuck dying of heatstroke chained to a pipe on a roof miles away. But the not knowing was painful, and you could see how badly it was affecting Dad. He looked lost, almost. He missed Merle. Another silence envelopes us as we watch other people move about camp.

"How're your knees doing? You're gonna make them worse if you keep standing on them." He says and I roll my eyes, pulling the trouser legs up. Still bruised and sore, but a lot less swollen. "Hmm." Dad touches them lightly, noting that they're still hot to the touch but already they were improving already. I keep the trousers rolled up for a bit, allowing my lower legs to breathe a little bit.

"You mad at me?" He then asks, throwing me off guard a little.

"No." I say, though I'm not sure. Maybe I am a little, but if I am I know I'll get over it.

"You gonna tell me what happened yesterday?" Dad continues. I shake my head, and he realises he's not going to get much more out of me. He tries one last time. "What's up?"

I sit up, rub my face with my hands and voice part of my frustration. "I ... am just so useless right now. I can't help with anything and I need to do something. There is so much to do and I just- I need to do something, anything besides sitting here being of no use to anyone." I say, sighing when I finish. _I need to make up for yesterday,_ I didn't add.

I didn't voice the fact that I miss Merle and Mum and home, or that I feel partially responsible for not helping people yesterday or that Rick putting his gun to Dad's head really freaked me out.

Dad stands and turns to me, holding out his hand. "You can help me take the bodies up." He pulls me up and I am grateful for this small act of consideration. Dad goes to carry me but I move away.

"I'm not a bloody cripple, I can walk." I say, smiling. Dad just shakes his head and walks slowly beside me as I limp towards the truck. "See, I'm fine." I say as we near.

"If you say so." Dad doesn't argue, knowing that we're both as stubborn as each other, and I have far too much pride.

"Daryl, could I borrow Abigail for a moment?" Lori asks, standing several feet behind us I see as I turn to Dad's name. Dad looks at me for a second, but before he can object, Lori speaks again. "I just need to get her opinion on something, it won't take two minutes." She promises, and I shrug at Dad, allowing him to decide.

He nods, turning back to the truck. I walk towards her and she turns away from the truck, so I assume this will involve walking.

"You okay?" She asks me, pointing to my uncovered legs. I'd forgotten to roll them down again, so they were on show for everyone to notice.

I nod. "Yeah, I just ... fell out of a tree. They're not as bad as they look. See, I'm walking." I take a couple of steps ahead of her, regretting it immediately.

"They really don't look good; I'm surprised you managed to stand for as long as you did earlier." She's referring to when her husband held my father at gunpoint and she was holding me back. It surprised me too. I'd also been surprised by her strength but perhaps I'm not as strong as I like to think I am. I feel the urge to explain Dad's aggressive behaviour, because they don't know what he's usually like.

"Dad wouldn't-" I stop myself, because I don't know what Dad was going to do, what he would've done. So I start again. "Dad's pretty stressed right now. I know we all are, but he worries a lot about me and Uncle Merle and probably Mum too. He'll calm down soon." I assure her, and she gives me a look of sympathy, knowing that I too feel anxious for him and for my absent family.

"Sorry about earlier as well. You were worried too, I know, you didn't need to hold me back." I apologise to her, feeling bad about the added stress I must have caused her.

"No need to be sorry, you were worried about your dad." She reassures me, but I'm not really reassured. "You okay?" She asks me again, and I nod, though I feel tears in my eyes. _Stiff upper lip_ , I remind myself, biting the side of my cheek.

"It's just the heat." I don't mean to, but my voice cracks on the last word. I'm mad at myself for not being able to cover it up. I clear my throat. "Wow, voice went weird." I clear it again, turning away to walk back to the truck. She lets me walk away, getting the message and I'm so thankful. Another thing I owe her for. I just hope she doesn't say anything to Dad about my tearing up.

Before I get in the truck I quickly wipe my eyes and take a deep breath. _Stiff upper lip_.

I hop into the truck, swinging the door shut behind me, not bothering with the seatbelt. I pull my trousers down hurriedly as Dad starts the car and we set off before he asks me what she wanted.

"You gonna tell me what that was about?" He asks, glancing between me and where we're going.

"Lori saw my legs and worried a bit, that's all." I say, looking out the window to my right.

"Couldn't have done that in front of me?" Dad suspects I'm lying, or at least not telling him everything.

"Well, you haven't been the most friendly person in the group." I say, to which he grunts.

"They ain't been the nicest of people neither."

I pause before quietly muttering, "It's a two way street, Dad. If you quit being an arsehole then-"

"What did you just call me?" Dad growls, putting on his parent voice - something he rarely does. I've blown it now.

"Well you can't expect them to be all sunshine and rainbows when you're not giving them a reason to!" I insist, digging the hole even deeper. I just can't stop myself.

"I don't expect them to like me, to them I'm just some dumb redneck. I know people ain't _just nice_ cos they never are and never have been. Now I had enough being lectured by some self-righteous kid." Dad snaps, eyes stuck straight ahead.

I can't stop the tears nor the trembling, but when facing the window he can't see, thank God. I'm an idiot for saying that. I should have stopped, should have thought it through.

We stay quiet for the rest of the short journey there, and I'm the first to get out, slamming the car door behind me in anger. I ignore the pain as I trudge over to where Shane and Rick are digging graves. I grab a shovel and start helping as the pair talk, though I feel their eyes on me occasionally. Dad unloads the first batch of the dead and gets back in the truck for the next.

I'm still digging when he's back with the next few, and Lori joins us when he drives back down again. The time alone digging gave me space to think and cry. Amy's dead, as were thirteen others, though some were being mourned more than the rest; nobody would miss Ed Peletier. Merle's still missing, as is mum and they could be dead or alive, possibly alone or dying or even a walker.

More tears stream down my face and I sniff as I lengthen the grave. Dad's angry at me. That threw me over the edge. The one person I have left is angry at me because I was too busy being a self-righteous ass. I huff, wiping my face with my sleeve.

Just as I finish my first grave, Dad drives up with more bodies - the last lot, I should think. I pull my headphones out of my pocket and put them in my ears, pressing play on my MP3. I drown out their conversation, turning away from them as I start on the next hole.

I think almost everyone's come up to say goodbye, even Andrea. Fourteen people are put to the ground as people cry, and I join in too, unable to hold it back. Though I let myself cry, I hear the little voice in the back of my head tell me off. Perhaps my pride doesn't want me crying in front of other people, but since most other people are crying or looking solemn, I don't think it could be that.

I ignore it by any means, and although I choose to walk back to camp instead of taking the truck with dad, I find it exhausting and painful. I have to stop for a break twice and I fall asleep as soon as I lay down on the blue car seat that we used for a sofa.

The adults discuss the plan of action for the next day just within earshot so I wake up a couple of times, but when I wake again fully from another nightmare, I'm in the truck on my own and it's completely dark. This happens three more times that night.


	7. Chapter 7

Dad's not there when I wake up and though part of me is glad, the other part is anxious to see whether or not he'd gotten over yesterday and I really hope he has because otherwise I need to gear myself up for an apology.

I prepare my legs, checking them over before getting out the truck and the swelling has definitely gone down. Walking isn't as painful, I find, as I move over to where the whole group has gathered to discuss the plan of action: Fort Bennett or the CDC. Either way, it would include a lot of driving and, thankfully, minimal walking.

That's if we even stay with the group. Dad may want to stay and look for Merle. It'd be a terrible decision and probably fatal, but it was plausible. There's also the fact that this is still the group that held him in a choke-hold, pointed guns at his head and left his brother to die - the likelihood of us staying, in my mind, is beginning to sound small. I push the thought aside. We'd be safest with the group and Dad has to know that, he's not dumb.

I stand close to Dad but though he looks at me briefly, his attention reverts back to the conversation quickly, giving no indication of whether he's still mad or not. I turn my attention the the conversation too, ignoring the slight discomfort of not having eaten for over twelve hours.

"We talked about it. We're sure." Morales says, and I know I've missed something.

"All right." Rick seems reluctant but lets Morales make his own choice, whatever it is. "Shane."

"Yeah, all right." Rick and Shane hand Morales guns and ammo. They're leaving us. I look to Dad, about to ask for confirmation but as Shane gives the family the box of ammo, Dad scoffs and turns away. He's not happy with giving away the supplies and while it's understandable, it's also uncouth.

The family say their goodbyes, hugging people, thanking people, and some crying. The family leave, and after today we may never see them again. From the fact that Dad hasn't yet said anything, I assume we're staying with the group.

"Come on, let's go. Let's move out." Shane says, and now I have to ask Dad what's going on because everyone else gets busy getting ready to set off. Whether we want to or not, we'll have to interact.

I start prepping myself to apologise, as much as I don't want to. I look around camp to see if I've left anything lying about and once I'm done I sit in the truck and wait, looking through my stuff several times over in the fear that I'm forgetting something - I even check the other backpacks, just in case. I stop myself after the third time and try to relax. I close my eyes and try not to think of everything we're leaving behind. Mum. Merle. We're leaving Merle in almost the same way we left Mum.

I jump when the door opens and Dad gets in, slamming the door shut behind him. He starts the car and we're off. Neither of us speak for awhile, the only sound being the engine and tires on the gravel road - soon enough, tires on tarmac. The quarry was quickly out of sight and we drove into the rolling hills lined with trees and back onto the main road. I chew my lip, knowing we'll have to speak at one point.

"We're staying with the group then." It's only half a question as it's quite obvious that we're following the group, heading away from Atlanta.

"What's it look like?" He says back, and we're back to silence. I can't take much more of the quiet.

"What I said yesterday..." I can't believe I'm doing this. Dad raises an eyebrow expectantly. "I, uh, that was rude of me. I know there's a lot going on and ... basically, I'm sorry." The last word is hard to get out. There's only slight hesitation, but I'm sure he notices it.

He still stays quiet, perhaps mulling it over or maybe he's not sure how to react because I rarely apologise. I can't read him, especially now he's keeping his eyes on the road. Or perhaps ... just perhaps he's thinking that I was right and doesn't want to admit it. _Enough with the self-righteous bullshit_ , I tell myself, remembering what he'd said about it yesterday. I also remember what he'd said about himself.

"They don't think you're some dumb redneck." I say softly, trying to make conversation and make him feel better. "I know for a fact you aren't, and even if they do think so, they'll realise the truth sooner or later." I tell him. He clears his throat, eyes fixated on the road. I roll my eyes. "Whatever then." I give up trying to talk and plug in my headphones instead.

After a couple of hours of listening to Mum's old music and slight sniffing in an attempt not to tear up, the music goes silent. I yank the MP3 out of my pocket and huff in dismay at the flashing screen that showed a battery with a line through it. I wasn't about to switch the battery now, so I put the MP3 in my backpack in the same slot as the last battery. I lean on my arm which is sat on the door and close my eyes, taking in the sounds and the smell of the old car.

My stomach suddenly lets out an almighty cry of desperation, whining and whinging and begging to be fed. Dad's eyes flick from the road to me and back again, a small smirk on his face.

"Yeah, I'm hungry, I haven't eaten in ages." I say, sitting up. He chuckles and I'm relieved he's actually interacting with me.

"You don't know the meaning of the word." He tells me, still smiling. Oh God I'm so glad he's smiling.

"Okay, well, I haven't been this long without food like ... ever. Cut me some slack, yeah?" I jest, also smiling. Mum always made sure we had enough to eat, or at least I did. No matter what, whether we were in a small and cheap hotel or whether we were in the rental car for the night, we had food for at least two meals a day. I'd never had to go hungry until now. I lean my back towards the door, facing more to the left and wanting to cross my legs but not daring to try, however I slowly pull one leg up and tuck it under the other.

"Do you think-" I start, but the cars in front slow down to a halt so I go quiet. "What's going on?" I ask, opening the window and sticking my head out to see if I could see anything. "I think something's up with the RV, it looks like there's smoke coming out of it." I get out the car with Dad, my hand on the knife at my waist.

I stick close to Dad, a little apprehensive. Jim's not doing well, they say. I frown, looking away from the others - though I hadn't known him other than the palaver with the bite back at camp, it's sad to lose another member of the group.

I stay outside next to Dad as Rick and Shane carry Jim out of the RV and lay him against a tree; his final resting place. Though this is what he wants, I can't help but feel bad that we're not going to stay with him in his final moments. But we don't. Everyone says their goodbyes and we leave him there, on his own.

My head hurts from frowning by the time I get to the car and Dad and I go for another long round of silence in the car, though this time it isn't uncomfortable.


End file.
